


Return of the Head Boy

by dragongirl251, SiobhanCven



Series: The Jock in the Photograph [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gay, Highschool AU, Lord of the Rings Highschool Au, Multi, but straight ppl too don't forget them, crack!fic, elvish gay, manly gay, the lord of the rings - Freeform, there's so much gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongirl251/pseuds/dragongirl251, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiobhanCven/pseuds/SiobhanCven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pressure mounts on the remainder of the dispersed Photograph Destruction Squad as Prom draws nearer and Frodo's final challenge sets him up for the most difficult decision of his life. Honour, friendship and popularity will be at stake in the final bid to restore Eriador High back to its previously harmonious state.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Woodwork 101

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is guys, stay seated and please enjoy.

Hallway number 72 was darker than Isildur had expected and Gollum was a lot creepier. The door to the staff computer lab, decked out with the latest technology stood ajar and he was frozen.

His cell phone, small enough to carry with a shoulder strap rang loudly in the still air. Gollum glared. “Don’t answer that.” He hissed.

Isildur sighed, glad for the relief. He picked up the phone and leaned against the door frame, shaking his shoulder length chocolate brown hair out of his eyes.

“Hello, this is Isildur’s phone, Isildur speaking.”

A heavy a sigh graced his ears from the other end of the line, “Where are you?”

“Oh.” Isildur could say with great conviction that he was quite frankly disappointed, “It’s you.”

“Speak to your elders with respect.”

“You’re six years older than me.” Isildur huffed in annoyance,

“Regardless of age, I am still your teacher, your mentor, and am held responsible for your often stupid actions.” Elrond Undomiel growled into the phone,

“Dude, come on.”

“Have you done it yet?”

“Done what?”

Isildur could almost feel Elrond gritting his teeth, “The photograph. Destroyed it.”

“Nah.”

“Destroy the photograph... _destroy_ it!”

“Nah.” Isildur pressed the sizable red phone button to hang up the call.

…

“Are uh…” Legolas began, lost for words, “you two alright?”

Merry and Pippin, arms slung around each other, chip packets in hand, grinned with glee. Aragorn sniffed the air, interested, “Smells like...milk.”

Merry and Pippin’s grins only widened, “Right you are! Now how about we crack open a few bags of chips and… _celebrate_!”

“What’s there to celebrate.” Legolas sighed, sitting onto one of the lilac couches and twisting his hands together in his lap,

“What’s there to CELEBRATE?” Merry jumped towards Legolas and swung onto his neck,

“We killed him! We killed Saruman?”

From the corner came a cough and Treebeard stepped into the light, “Uhm...objection,” he began slowly, “there was no uhm…killin’.”

“Shhhhh…” Merry shushed,

“We locked him in his office.” Treebeard clarified and Pippin glared at him in frustration before grinning and staring at Legolas -- who looked mildly horrified -- and Aragorn -- who grinned back.

“Killed!” He exclaimed, “Killed!”

“We’re not celebrating, we’re not having a party.” Legolas’ tone carried a sombre finality and Merry and Pippin looked at him questioningly,

“There may be a party yet.” Came a deep, jovial voice from the door, prompting the company’s heads to turn,

“Gandalf!” Pippin exclaimed with glee,

“Gandalf indeed.” He nodded sagely, looking down at Pippin.

“What were you saying about a party?” Aragorn asked with enthusiasm and Gandalf quirked a smile,

“The Mordor Football team has been discovered to have a history of homophobic actions, propaganda and abuse. Therefore, the League has taken into consideration the events of today and those of previous games and has come to the decision that they should be removed from the League and ruled ineligible to play.” Gandalf waited for his words to sink in,

“But what does that mean?” Aragorn’s look of confusion forced a sigh out of Legolas,

“It means, Aragorn, that they’ve been disqualified…” Aragorn still looked confused, “we _won_ …by default but --”

The rest of his sentence was not heard as Aragorn punched air and cried, “It’s time to party, _am I right_?”

Merry jumped into the air to return Aragorn’s high-five before turning to Gandalf and grinning, “We have good news, Mr Gandalf sir!”

“And what is that, young Mr Brandybuck?”

“We’ve done it! We’ve done it!” Pippin ejaculated,

“Done what, you fool of a Took!” Gandalf’s voice lost its sagely tone.

“We killed him! We killed him!”

“What?” Gandalf glared.

“The vice Principal!” Began Merry,

“Is dead!” Finished Pippin, gleefully.

“Uhm, objection, Mr Gandalf.” Treebeard spoke slowly, yet again from the corner, “We didn’t kill him; He’s not…dead…he’s just…incapacitated--”

Aragorn violently turned his head questioningly toward Legolas, looking for a definition. Legolas shook his head fractionally before looking back at Treebeard,

“--that is to say that he’s well, in his office, with the door locked… jammed… locked… jammed… locked, from the outside… by us… jammed… he can’t get out.” He finished, lamely.

Gandalf nodded sagely, “I see, I see, well, extenuating circumstances have given me cause to intervene, I shall go to him and give him a chance to redeem himself,  but where his loyalties lie will be, in the end, up to him.” Gandalf nodded once more around the room before leaving in a swish of white leather.

…

Gandalf walked down the halls with purpose, students who saw him looked on in awe as his white leather jacket reflected the mid afternoon sun. The student presidents of the Literacy Club soon stopped Gandalf in his tracks,

“Sir,” Thengel began reverently, clutching his twin’s elbow, “it’s truly an honour, a privilege--”

“To have you back, sir.” Fengel finished.

“And it is an honour to be back, young student presidents.” Gandalf nodded before continuing on his way, smiling.

Hallway 87 was deserted as usual, but the pungent smell of off milk hung in the air as Gandalf made his way toward the end. Reaching the door he saw that the lock had been, indeed, jammed with what looked like a broken key, an assortment of soil encrusted trowels littering the floor at his feet.

“Saruman!” He called out, knocking lightly on the door.

An angered wail came from within, “GanDALF! Look what your hooligans have done!”

Gandalf smiled coyly up at the security camera above Saruman’s door, knowing that the man inside would be looking, “Oh Saruman, how could I have known? You yourself sent me on long hrets tlef--” he coughed, then cleared his throat, “--sorry, long service leave.”

“GANDALF! I demand you have them brought to me! For punishment! For _justice_!”

Gandalf chuckled, “I’m afraid that won’t be happening, Vice Principal Saruman, for it is I who is Head of Discipline now, not you. I am sorry,” he nodded solemnly, “I will give you one last chance.”

Saruman’s wails were reaching critical pitch, “I DON’T WANT YOUR CHANCES, GANDALF! I WANT DISCIPLINE, I WANT PUNISHMENT, I WANT JUSTICE AND I WANT A FULLY RESTORED  BUDGET AND SO HELP ME GANDALF, I WILL GET IT!”

“I am afraid, Saruman, my old friend, that you will be getting none of those things.” He looked down the corridor sadly, “Goodbye, Vice Principal Saruman, goodbye.”

…

Legolas was perched on a lilac couch, his hands twisting in his lap, watching Merry and Pippin bouncing around the common room when they heard Gandalf’s voice crackle over the intercom. When the announcement had finished, Aragorn looked gleefully at Legolas, who stared moodily back,

“Does this mean what I think it means, Legolas?”

“And what, Aragorn, is that?”

“Party, Legolas, party.”

Legolas sighed as Aragorn pulled him up by his wrist and toward the common room door.

Aragorn began to pound on the dorm room doors, yelling through the wood,

“Football party! Rivendell common room! Text your friends, anyone welcome! We won!”

“By default.” Legolas sighed, prying his wrist from Aragorn’s grasp, “Look, I want to go and get Gimli, okay?”

“I’m sure you do, Blondie,” Aragorn winked, “Go get some for me…aye?”

Legolas pursed his lips as Aragorn slapped him on the arse, “I’ll be back shortly.” He sighed, as people began to fill the Rivendel halls.

Legolas walked slowly out of Rivendel, wondering where Gimli could be. He sighed and conceded that he’d have to find Gimli’s friends. He walked towards the quadrangle in the middle of the school, looking left and right for anyone shabby. Finally, by the drinking fountain in the corner, he saw a short, calloused junior who he vaguely recognised, bending over to have a drink. He quickened his pace and stopped beside the junior, then cleared his throat and tapped a muscular shoulder,

“Excuse me.”

The junior looked up, water dripping from his mouth, “What?’ He slurred.

“I was just looking for Gimli, you look like you’d know where he is.” He shot what he thought was a winning smile.

The junior scowled and crossed his arms, “What’s that supposed to mean, Blondie?”

Legolas winced at the name, but continued nonetheless, ‘Well, I saw your callouses from across the quad and I ju--”

“Wait, what?” The junior was bemused.

“I uhm, I saw your callouses?” Legolas tried to continue, “From across the--”

“No, man, you didn’t. You can’t just see that far. It doesn’t work. Ever taken biology?”

“Well, actually I’m top of the year, uhm, you know who I am, of course?” Legolas tried.

“Yeah, no.”

“Well, my father is the main benefactor for the school…”

“Nah, I just can’t seem to place you, Blondie.”

Legolas’ politeness dried up, “Legolas Greenleaf. Tell me where I can find Gimli.”

“Can’t you like,” The junior grinned, gesturing to his own eyes, “ya know, see him?”

Legolas gritted his teeth, “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Are you friends with that Aragorn guy?”

“Well our relationship is a bit more complicated than that.”

“Great. I don’t care.” Nodded the junior, “Anyway, _he’s_ alright. I don’t know about you though.’

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Legolas snapped.

“Well, you look a bit, you know,” Legolas shook his head, “clean.”

“I--I like to be clean.”

“Looks like it.”

“Look I just want to know where Gimli is.” Legolas tried desperately to change the subject.

“Why?” The junior asked, placing his hands on his hips, looking Legolas up and down.

“I just do?”

“Oh,” The junior seemed to come to a sudden realisation, “ _oh_ , I know who you are. You look different, ya know, without all the padding.” He nodded, looking Legolas up and down again, “Skinnier, I thought you’d be more impressive, I mean, you run really fast. Didn’t expect your hair to be so long though, what’s up with that?”

“W-what?”

“Oh yeah, Gimli makes us watch a lot of the games, he thinks it’s weird if he goes by himself. It is weird. It’s weird full stop. This is weird.” He gestured between himself and Legolas, “And that’s weird.” He gestured toward the woodwork room.

“What?” Legolas was growing increasingly confused.

“Gimli. It’s weird. Why.”

“Why what?”

“Gimli. Why.”

“What?”

“I just thought, ya know, that you’d go for someone more your type, that he’d go for someone more his type.” He narrowed his eyes, “Why do you like him, Greenleaf?”

“I-I-uhm, I just…do?” Legolas looked around for an escape.

“Not good enough.” The junior informed him.

“Uhm, well, he’s…nice?”

“Greenleaf.”

“Uhm, well, he’s…attractive?”

“Can’t say I’ve looked.”

“Can you just please tell me where he is?”

The junior sighed, “He’s in there. Don’t be inappropriate.” he jerked a thumb back toward the woodwork room.

“What do you mean?” Legolas’ voice was small.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” He grumbled, “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t get anything weird on my tools.” He slapped Legolas on the shoulder and walked towards the Rivendell common room, “There’s a party up there.”

“I know.” Legolas muttered at his retreating back before turning to walk into the woodwork room.

Gimli was hammering at one of the benches when he entered, “Hey Jerry, is that you? I need the 16 millimetre firmer chisel.”

“Uhm?” Legolas didn’t know where to begin.

“Oh, it’s you. Nevermind.” Gimli stopped his hammering and turned to lean against the bench, raising his eyebrows at Legolas. Silent tension hung between them and Gimli tapped his fingers against the bench. “So. Why aren’t you at the party? I heard the announcement. Congratulations, I guess.”

“Oh, uhm, well, I was just looking for you? Your, uhm, your friends are quite frightening in their own respect.”

“Who, Jerry?” Gimli raised an eyebrow.

“Ahh, I don’t really know.”

“Probably Jerry.” Gimli nodded, staring at the ground. “So what did you want?”

“I just wanted to find you.” Legolas’ face reddened and he shuffled his feet.

“Oh. Okay then.” Gimli turned his back to Legolas and continued to hammer, “So can you get me that chisel? It’s in the third drawer over there.” He gestured vaguely to a bank of drawers covering almost an entire wall.

“Uhm, okay.” Legolas walked slowly over to the drawers and pulled out the first chisel he saw, walking back to Gimli, hoping it was the right one.

“No,” Gimli said without turning around, “that’s not it, it’s okay.” He sighed and turned around, bumping into Legolas in the process, causing both to fall against the bench.

“Sorry.” Legolas jumped back quickly and Gimli scowled,

“Sure.”

“I didn’t uhm, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

There was a loaded silence as Legolas struggled

“I just, well --” Legolas sighed in defeat and slid his arm around Gimli’s waist, pulling him close in one swift motion before kissing him.

Gimli pulled away, “Legolas, really?” He shook his head.

“There’s a party.” Legolas tried.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Can you-- do you want to-- I mean--”

“Fine.” Gimli nodded, pushing past Legolas and walking out of the woodwork room.

…

The party was in full swing, lilac couches and wall hangings in disarray. Gandalf surveyed the scene with mild amusement, his eyes landing on Pippin, who was swaying on his feet and talking to a security camera, the lilac hanging which had covered it held between his fingers. Gandalf scowled and made his way over to him.

“Peregrin Took. Desist at once.” Gandalf roughly pulled the lilac cloth from Pippin’s fingers and pinned it back across the camera, “Don’t do that.” He instructed a confused Pippin before walking away.

Over in the corner, Eomer and Legolas stared intently at each other over their shot glasses of lime flavoured vodka.

“Five?”

“Yep.” Nodded Legolas.

“Yep.” Confirmed Eomer.

They both drank.

“I kissed him again. Six?”

“Yep.”

They both drank.

“Did he like it?”

Legolas fiddled with his glass, “I don’t know.”

“What did you do? Seven?”

“I just kissed him again.”

They both drank.

“Was it to avoid something?” Eomer upended his glass on the table and folded his arms to stare at Legolas.

“Maybe?”

It was at this moment that a slightly tipsy Gimli approached their table, pulling himself up a chair and sitting. “I’m mad at you.”

“Well there’s your answer.” Eomer smirked.

“But why?” Legolas stared sheepishly at Gimli, who scowled.

“Would you like me to explain it to you?”

Legolas prepared himself for what he expected to be Eomer’s regular onslaught of verbal abuse.

“You’re a dick.”

“I’m a -- what?”

“You can’t just expect someone to tolerate you,” Eomer began matter of factly, “if whenever there’s a problem, you take it upon yourself to assault them.”

“I didn’t assault him-- I didn’t assault you, Gimli.” Legolas stared beseechingly and Gimli shrugged,

“Well, it was kinda--”

“Legolas, look, you’ve got to treat people like people. Let them talk.” He nodded before continuing, “Just tell Gimli that you like him,” He took Legolas by the shoulder, “With your words, not your alternative sexuality.” He leaned back to watch the proceedings.

“So you like me?” Gimli raised an eyebrow and Legolas nodded sheepishly, “You wanna do this?” Legolas nodded again and Eomer let out a derisive sigh. “Okay then.” Gimli finished.

Merry and Pippin were dancing on the table, singing about their primary school days while Aragorn watched, grinning and raising his lime green cruiser.

Eowyn coughed beside him and tapped his shoulder, “Ahh, hi Aragorn.”

He smiled nervously at her before catching sight of Theoden making his way towards them, “Oh hey, uhm, it’s your dad. Coming here. Should go. Am I…right?” He awkwardly backed away from Eowyn, who held her hand up for a high five. “Gotta go and…Legolas.” He finished, lamely.

Theoden, walking by, clapped Aragorn on the back before grinning at Eowyn, “Nice boyfriend!” The large bottle in his hand was almost empty. Eowyn blushed and Aragorn slunk away, making his way toward Gandalf who stood in the corner.

“So Gandalf, where do you reckon Sam and Frodo are? Haven’t seen them in a while, you know, since Boromir…well…yesterday.” He finished sadly.

“They went to extension software design today, they’re on the roll. I’m sure they’re okay.”

“But I haven’t seen them.” Aragorn nodded, bemused.

Gandalf pursed his lips, “You wouldn’t have, Aragorn.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen them.”

“You haven’t had any classes today, Aragorn.”

“Yeah but you’d think I’d have seen them.”

“They’re not in any of your classes at all, Aragorn.”

“But you’d think I’d have seen them.”

“They’re not in your year.”

“But you know, I haven’t seen them?”

“You didn’t know them before this started.”

“Yeah, but I can track things.”

Gandalf sighed and walked away; Aragorn was a lost cause.

…

Gollum was staring greedily at the photograph, scrunched in Frodo’s hand while Frodo gritted his teeth, trying to remember the password. Footsteps sounded in the hall, clicking-clacking across the floor and Frodo’s head snapped up.

“Heels.” He whispered, “Only one teacher wears heels.”

“Hm?” Sam looked up from his muesli bar.

“The Witch King.” Frodo stood, clenching his fists, eyes wide, “I have to go.”

“What?”

“I have to go!” Frodo sprinted down the hallway, and after a moment, Sam followed in confusion, Gollum pushing his rickety janitor’s cart after them, the smell of methylated spirits drifting in the hall.

…

“You know, sometimes I think you’re the only one who gets me.” Pippin stared into the security camera, lovingly, “Like, I do all these things, but why do I do them?”

The security camera beeped, and Pippin nodded, stroking its smooth surface.

From across the room, Merry looked at Pippin and burst into laughter, his small group of friends joining him, “Man, so happy I spiked his punch, ‘aint he cute?” He nudged the boy next to him, who giggled.

“FOOL OF A TOOK!” Gandalf roared from his corner, striding over to where Pippin sat, “You have no idea of the peril into which you have now placed us, including young Mr Baggins. Do you know who monitors those cameras, Mr Took?” Gandalf looked toward the door, “Sauron, Mr Took,” He spoke quietly, and Pippin paled. “Do you know who Sauron sends, Mr Took?”

Pippin shook his head, arms limp. “The Witch King. We need to get you out of here.”

“How far?” Pippin squeaked.

“Gondor.”

…

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Merry watched solemnly as Gandalf and Pippin  mounted Shadowfax. The engine revved and Pippin turned to look at Merry, who spoke,

“I’ll never see you again.”

Pippin waved off Merry’s concern, “I’ll only be across the quad, it’s fine.”

“Pippin, don’t you know how serious this is?” Pippin shook his head, “Sauron thinks you’re disrupting the budget. He thinks you threw the party.” Merry informed him solemnly.

Aragorn put a hand on Merry’s shoulder, and pulled him close in comfort as Pippin’s face fell.

“Now is the time for us to depart.” Nodded Gandalf, accelerating away from the group standing at the edge of the quadrangle. Pippin looked back sadly, wondering whether he’d ever get to see his best friend again.

 


	2. Literacy 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has always been a crack!fic, but my god, get ready because it just got a whole lot weirder. Enjoy it

“Sweetie.” Arwen beckoned Galadriel over as Galadriel came shuffling out of the bathroom in her pajamas. Arwen pointed at the wad of papers in her hand, “Daddy says I have to transfer.” Galadriel raised her eyebrows,

“But why?”

“Galadriel.”

“Arwen?”

“ _Galadriel_.”

“Okay Arwen seriously. Why?”

“It’s my popularity, Galadriel. You know how people like me feel about popularity.” She looked at Galadriel meaningfully. Galadriel sighed.

“What else could it be about.”

“Lots of things, swee--”

Galadriel looked up in confusion as the word, so often uttered, was left unsaid. Arwen’s hand was covering her mouth, and she looked paler than usual.

“Arwen, are you--”

Arwen stood and stumbled gracefully toward the bathroom, hand over her mouth. Galadriel, a second later, heard the sound of retching and quickly jumped to investigate. As Galadriel entered the bathroom, Arwen wiped her mouth elegantly and stood from in front of the white toilet bowl.

“Sweetie,” Arwen began, “be a lamb and get me one of those tests from the second drawer.”

Galadriel obliged, speechless, pulling out a half empty box of pregnancy tests.

“Arwen?” She began, but Arwen waved a hand, cutting her off.

“Sweetie, just let me do it. You don’t need to be here.”

Galadriel rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her.

Quicker than Galadriel expected, Arwen exited the bathroom, carrying the white stick in front of her.

“Well, I’ve never failed a test in my life, so here’s hoping.” She waved the pregnancy test in Galadriel’s direction.

“You’re, uhm…aren’t you meant to fail uhm…this kind of test?”

“Sweetie, Undomiels don’t fail.”

“Don’t you use condoms...or…?” Galadriel’s confusion was growing by the second.

Arwen rolled her eyes, “Sweetie, who doesn’t use condoms these days? Contraception is _so_ in right now. But you know Aragorn, you’ve seen him play. He’s a go hard or go home kind of man.”

“I’m sure he is.” Galadriel nodded, uncomfortable.

“Oh! It’s time!” Arwen brandished the pregnancy test in front of Galadriel.

…

Arwen Undomiel’s towering heels clacked along the corridors of Eriador High, drawing awed looks from both males and females alike. Out of uniform, Arwen Undomiel was a sight to behold. Her pleated, dusty rose skirt swished around her thighs with every movement of her hips, her hair bouncing in voluminous coffee-brown waves against her tawny fur vest.

Whispers broke out along the corridor in her wake.

“That’s Arwen Undomiel.”

“She’s perfect.”

“Wonderful.”

“The captain of the cheersquad.”

“And the sweetheart of Strider.”

“The top of her class.”

“She is indeed a complete woman.”

“More complete than I.”

“More complete than any of us could hope to be.”

“Hey Arwen, why are you wearing that vest?”

Silence descended over the corridor as Arwen’s heels came to a halt. She spun to face the offender, skirt twirling to reveal a split-second view of baby pink dance pants.

“It’s Chanel.” She nodded knowingly. Gasps followed her as she strode into the counselor's office, closing the behind her.

“Princess, I wasn’t expecting you back. Shouldn’t you be filling out the forms for your new school?”  Elrond shuffled the papers on his desk nervously.

“Change of plan, daddy.” She sat, crossing her legs and arms simultaneously, “So what I was thinking, daddy, is that I, you know, stay here.” She pursed her lips.

“Princess--”

“Daddy, I wasn’t finished.”

“Then by all means, continue--” Elrond continued to shuffle the papers on his desk.

“Daddy” She gave him a simpering smile, “What I’m saying is that you should polish the badge--”

“But princess!”

“Daddy, shush. You need to polish Isildur’s badge. You know the one, daddy.”

“But princess, why? And why do you want to stay here? Your popularity, it’s dwindling.”

“There are some things more important than popularity, daddy.”

“Like what, Arwen? What could possibly be more important to you than popularity?”

Arwen cleared her throat, “Daddy, I know what it’s like to grow up with only one parent. I’m not going to subject my child to that, so I’m staying here with Aragorn.”

“Princess, what are you--”

“Daddy. Just polish the badge.”

…

The stark whiteness of the head of Gondor’s office was only interrupted by the mounds of football training equipment piled up against every available surface.

Pippin looked at the sporting gear in awe, “Mr Gondor, the budget! How did you get all this stuff.”

Gandalf, sitting beside him in one of the white chairs muttered urgently under his breath, “It’s Coach Denethor, Pippin.”

A ball went sailing past their heads, and Pippin ducked just in time.

“Catch the ball, boy!” Coach Denethor growled, adjusting the sleeve of his white skin tight v-neck.

“Now I know, Coach Denethor, that you don’t exactly agree with Saruman’s…err, policies. Especially those regarding the sports budget,” Gandalf began, “so it is to you I have come, rather than others, to discuss with you, the gravest of concerns.” He nodded wisely.

“Yeah, you’re wastin’ my time with your fancy talk, Gandalf. Get to the point.” Coach Denethor then turned to Pippin and threw another ball, “Catch the ball, boy!”

This time, Pippin wasn’t so lucky, and the ball glanced off his cheekbone. Gandalf sighed,

“With all due respect, Coach Denethor, could you listen, instead of abusing the students?”

“Then how ‘bout you say somethin’, Gandalf. Nothin’ you’ve said so far’s worth anythin’. What is it that you want?”

“It is my wish that this child be placed in your care. He must be protected from himself as well as others. It is here that he will be safe.”

“Catch the ball, boy!” The ball sailed through the air and hit Pippin between his eyes.

Gandalf blinked before standing, “I trust you will take good care of him. Come, Pippin, we will make our final farewells in the hall.”

Pippin stood, rubbing his forehead gingerly, “Kay.” He muttered, following Gandalf into the hall.

Gandalf shut the the door, shaking his head at Pippin, “Dark times, Pippin, dark times.”

Pippin nodded in confusion and the two of them stood, nodding in the hallway before Gandalf once again broke the silence, “In times like these, Pippin, what we need once more is our head boy.” He looked wistfully off into the distance.

“Mr Gandalf sir, we don’t have a head boy.”

Gandalf laughed, his tone tinged with sadness, placing a hand on Pippin’s shoulder, “Oh Pippin, once, a very long time ago, we did.”

Pippin shrugged, “You talkin’ about Aragorn’s dad?”

“Oh, Isildur, he did not deserve the fate he met.”

“Yeah but I saw him last holidays at my gran’s 80th. He looks really good for forty. I wonder if Aragorn will look that good. Lucky Legolas. Lucky Arwen. Lucky everyone, really.” He nodded at Gandalf, who nodded back.

“Goodbye Pippin,” He grasped the boy’s shoulder, “and good luck.” He looked toward Coach Denethor’s office, “You’ll need it.”

…

Gandalf strode into the chaotic gym, a frown on his face. Aragorn immediately came bounding up to him, grinning.

“Arwen’s back! Did you know?”

“I do now, Aragorn. Thank you.” Gandalf nodded gravely, “How have the preparations come along thus far?”

“Uhm, good? Yeah, fantastic.” Aragorn shot him a winning smile.

“You haven’t been helping, have you.” Gandalf’s usual mystical tone was gone.

“Nah.”

“You grow more and more like your father each day, Aragorn.”

“Yeah.”

“So what _have_ you been doing, son of Isildur?” Gandalf asked skeptically.

“Well.” Grinned Aragorn, winking, “You see that pretty blond over there?” He elbowed Gandalf, pointing to a junior, who was gluing leaves onto a fibreglass tree while simultaneously trying not to fall off the chair he was standing on. “Well every time he bends over, and that happens a lot...just look at all the leaves he’s gotta glue…anyway, every time he bends down, well, well. Gandalf. My God, Gandalf.” Aragorn placed a hand over his heart.

“Such a noble cause, son of Isildur it truly is--”

“Gandalf! Gandalf it’s happening.” Aragorn’s voice was awed and Gandalf heaved a heavy sigh,

“Prepare yourself, Son of Isildur, for Mordor will be arriving shortly.”

“Well Gandalf, that’s certainly not what I’m gunna be preparing myself for, am I right?”

Rohirrim, walking past with a bundle of leaves clutched in his arms, freed an arm long enough to high-five Aragorn, who grabbed him to stop him walking by.

“So where are you taking those leaves?” Aragorn narrowed his eyes, smirking.

“To the leaf guy.” Rohirrim pointed toward the blond who Aragorn had been eyeing.

“Well, if you want, I can take those for you.” Aragorn winked at Gandalf before violently grabbing the mass of leaves from Rohirrim’s hands and making his way over to the blond.

Rohirrim sighed and turned to walk away, but Gandalf tapped his shoulder to make the boy stop to face the Head of Discipline.

“Rohirrim, do you happen to know the theme of the prom? It would prove useful to have that knowledge.”

Rohirrim shrugged and shuffled his feet, embarrassed, “Well, it’s…” He took a deep breath, “Medieval New Zealand.” He finished quickly, as if he didn’t want Gandalf to hear the words.

“Ingenious.” Nodded Gandalf, eyes sparkling, “I must away, the security cameras await. The duties of the Head of Discipline are, at times, rather drull.”

“Fantastic.” Muttered Rohirrim unenthusiastically.

…

Gandalf sat in front of the bank of monitors, and watched the many illicit acts taking place in the school with a smile on his face and absolutely no intention of doing anything.

A minute later, rolling across the floor of the art room, Gandalf spotted a lime. Narrowing his eyes, he clicked the mouse to zoom in and saw, just in the corner of the screen, a small hand disappearing out of the shot.

Gandalf’s blood ran cold. He’d recognise that hand anywhere, it was a hand that now so often held a crumpled photograph.

It was the hand of Frodo Baggins.

Gandalf gritted his teeth. If Frodo was in the art room, then they were in graver danger than he had ever dared to think. The prom was going to need to last longer, and for that; he was going to need the literacy club.

Gandalf pulled the microphone for the PA system towards himself, clearing his throat. He switched it on.

“Could the Rohan Literacy Club please report to the gym. I repeat, could the Rohan Literacy Club please report to the gym. This has been a message from the Head of Discipline, could the Rohan Literacy Club please report to the gym.”

Gandalf turned off the microphone and sat back with a sigh, hoping it would be enough. A second later, his lime green Microsoft Surface, distributed by the school, pinged happily. Gandalf smiled at the small device, clicking the space bar to bring the screen back to life. He had an email.

He opened it carefully to see that it was from Theoden, head of Rohan, with no subject. The message simply read:

_No._

_Love,_

_Your colleague, Theoden xx_

Gandalf sighed and tapped, with a long finger, the compose button, smiling. He addressed the email to Aragorn:

_Aragorn,_

_Though I am loathe to admit it, we are in need of your social skills._

_Help us, Aragorn, bring the Literacy Club to our cause._

_Help us draw out the prom._

_The Photograph Destruction Squad depends on it._

_They must write the speeches._

_Yours in pleading,_

_Gandalf, Head of Discipline, Eriador High._

Gandalf tapped the send button before closing the Microsoft device, snapping the stand back into place with love. He once more turned on the PA system.

“Could Aragorn, Son of Isildur please retrieve his Microsoft Surface device, distributed by the school and check his Eriador High webmail account. This has been a message from the Head of Discipline, I repeat, could Aragorn, Son of Isildur please retrieve his Microsoft Surface device, distributed by the school and check his Eriador High webmail account. Thank you.”

Gandalf once more turned off the PA system and hoped it would be enough.

…

The art room was darker than Frodo had ever imagined it could be. It was an art room after all, didn’t they need natural light? Apparently not, it was very dark.

“It’s really dark in here.” Frodo nodded at Sam, who was eating yet another muesli bar.

“Yeah, you’re right. Pretty dark. Weird. Thought they needed natural light.”

Frodo grinned at Sam, “That’s exactly what I thought, Sam!”

“Great.” Nodded Sam.

Gollum turned around at that moment, his cart rattling as he did so.

“Shhh! This is the photography section! No lightses here! Makes for hard cleanings it does.”

“See, he knows what’s going on.” Frodo reassured Sam, who didn’t look so convinced,

“Yeah, he knows a bit too much in my opinion.”

“He’s the _janitor_ , Sam.” Frodo shot.

“You ever seen him do any cleaning?”

Whatever Frodo was going to retort was cut off by Gollum,

“The fat one grows suspicious of Gollum, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he!”

Sam gritted his teeth and rubbed his stomach self consciously, putting the half eaten muesli bar back in his pocket sadly.

“Yeah, he does.” said Frodo, rolling his eyes as Sam scowled.

“Look Frodo, why do you even trust him? He’s a janitor for Christ’s sake, you don’t even know him and you trust him more than you trust me. How does that work, Frodo? How does that work out for you?”

Frodo shook his head, “Sam this is ridiculous, we have to destroy the photograph and all you think about is yourself.”

Sam drew himself up to his full height, face growing red, “Oh, I’m selfish now? Great, that’s just great.”

Sam was about to continue when Frodo held up a hand, facing away and peering into the darkness. “Shut up a minute, Sam.”

“Really? Really, Frodo?”

“Sam, shut up!” Frodo glared urgently at an angered Sam.

“The children of the Arts,” Gollum murmured, licking his lips, “they come.” Shuffling sounds began to be heard around them, and as Frodo looked around wildly, a lime rolled out of a nearby storage cupboard. Frodo bent to pick it up, and when he held it up to what little light was available, he saw three letters carved into its porous surface.

“Art?” Sam asked, looking over Frodo’s shoulder, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s conceptual, Sam. It’s a message.” He let the lime fall from between his fingers as the shuffling drew closer.

…

A high, reedy voice came over the PA system and Eomer rolled his eyes, “Ah, fuck.” He grumbled.

“Hello children, students of Eriador High. This is your principal, Principal Sauron speaking. Today I would like to welcome, as a special treat, our honoured guests, the students of Mordor School Boys, Mordor School for Boys students of the graduating year of 2014. Please welcome Mordor School for Boys. They will be helping with preparation, as well as attending tonight’s event. Please do your best to make them feel welcome in any and all ways possible. Please welcome Mordor School for Boys graduating year of 2014.” The crackling transmission stopped for a minute before continuing, “On another note, I am, in fact aware of the Vice Principal, Vice Principal Saruman’s situation, I repeat, Vice Principal Saruman’s situation, and our Physical Education Instructor the Witch-- Ms King, is on high alert, and the perpetrators will be caught. Once again, please welcome Mordor School For Boys. Thankyou.”

“What the fuck was that?” Eomer sighed with dersion.

Legolas mirrored his sigh and looked at him with raised eyebrows, “It was a PA announcement, Eomer.”

“No fucking way, Legolas. I am so fucking surprised by this news I may just kill someone.” Replied Eomer in a monotone. Rohirrim, standing next to the pair, rolled his eyes,

“You always feel like that, boss.”

“Yeah, go get me some tea. Decaf.” Eomer glanced at Legolas, “You know what the caffeine does.”

“Don’t we all.” Muttered Rohirrim before turning to Legolas, “Want anything?”

“Oh, no thank you, I’ve already had my iced green tea with freshly squeezed lime juice, mint and grated ginger.”

“On a detox, then?” Rohirrim nodded knowingly, “Not bulking anymore?”

“Of course, season’s over. I must cleanse. I do it for football, but personally, I don’t like to think about what I put into my body when I’m bulking.”

“Well I know a few people, including myself, who like to think, fairly regularly about all the things that could be put into your body Legolas, eh Eomer?”

Legolas turned to see Faramir standing by the door to the gym, grinning, stitches along his cheekbone and a bandage across his eyebrow, but handsome nonetheless.

“You’re disgusting.” Muttered Eomer, as Rohirrim shuffled toward the kitchens and Legolas smiled back at Faramir, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his cheek.

“Faramir,” He began, tone dripping with sarcasm, “You’re really hot,” He pursed his lips, “Let’s have sex. Here.” He glanced at the ground, “Now.” He tapped Faramir’s face condescendingly with his hand and Faramir smiled good naturedly before stepping back.

“You never did take my advances seriously.”

Before Legolas could respond, the two boys were separated by an exasperated Eomer, who stepped between them, looking warningly at Legolas, who frowned,

“What?”

“Hi.” Gimli, seeming to have appeared while the pair were talking, nodded at Legolas with a tight-lipped smile before turning to Faramir, “So you’re better?”

Faramir glanced at Eomer for help, who gave him none. “Uhm, yeah…fine…better…great, you know, stitches and all.” He pointed awkwardly at his face, “You know how the boys love scars--” he broke off, looking Gimli up and down, a confused look on his face, “or…girls?”

“Boys.” Replied Gimli, dryly.

“Good choice!” Grinned Faramir, clapping him on the shoulder and smiling at Legolas, who had the good grace to look embarrassed.

There was an awkward pause before Legolas jumped in, “So Faramir, did you hear that Mordor School for Boys will be--”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. As if getting beaten up wasn’t enough…quite frankly, I think this is worse.” He leaned in close to Legolas and Gimli and beckoned for Eomer to come closer. Eomer sighed and obliged.

“You know that they paid us off, right?” He told Faramir, who nodded grimly, “They don’t have a facility to hold their own prom, the fuckers.”

“Well, it was one thing to be beaten up, but its something entirely different when they come to your prom.” He took a deep, calming breath, “especially when they’re so…” He looked meaningfully at Legolas, who nodded solemnly, “shabby.” He looked down at the ground, “And have you seen the _towers_ on their school?”

Legolas shuddered, “They’re so tacky it hurts.”

“They don’t know the colour scheme,” Faramir continued, losing control, “they don’t even know the theme! I mean,“ he paused, shaking his head, “Medieval New Zealand isn’t something you can just turn up in.”

…

“So you wanna do this?” Aragorn asked Merry gravely, who shrugged,

“It’s just the literacy club, man.”

“It’s not just the literacy club. Arwen once said it was...” he paused, deep in thought, “social suicide...yeah,” he nodded, “that’s what she said...yeah. Are you sure you wanna do that?”

“Look Aragorn, being socially suicidal, it works for me,” he shrugged, “I’ll always have friends, admirers...fans, if you will. And anyway, with Pippin gone, I have to keep myself occupied. Gotta keep all this charisma for something else.” He looked up at Aragorn meaningfully, “Am I right?”

Aragorn placed his hand reverently onto Merry’s and nodded, “I respect you, little nerd, I respect you and your life choices.”

“Yeah great. Can we sell me off to the literacy club now?”

“Of course we can.” Aragorn nodded, opening the door to the meeting room and pushing Merry inside.

Eowyn greeted them, Thengel and Fengel, the joint student presidents, sitting in the seats at the long table that occupied most of the room.

“So Aragorn,” She blushed, “I hear that you’ve come to make a trade.” She batted her eyelashes and looked down at Merry.

“We’ll handle this from here, Eowyn.” Thengel piped,

“Yes we will, Eowyn.” Fengel added.

“We are the student presidents of the Literacy Club.”

“Yes we are, Eowyn.” Fengel nodded importantly.

“So if you please, step aside, Eowyn.”

“Yes Eowyn, step aside.”

“Of course.” Eowyn batted her eyelashes at Aragorn once again before sitting.

“I am here.” Aragorn nodded reverently, and looked down at his ink stained palm, struggling to read the words written there, “To make the trade: One new member to the literacy club, for the services of said literacy club to write the speeches for the prom. Long speeches. For the prom.” He finished, lamely.

“And is this what you have to offer to the--” Thengel began,

“Literacy Club.” Fengel finished.

“Is he in fact--”

“Literate?”

Aragorn looked around in confusion, and Merry spoke,

“Yeah, I can read and write. S’all good.”

“Then, Mr Brandybuck--”

“You are hired, Mr Brandybuck.” Fengel finished.

“You will now pledge your allegiance with Aragorn, Son of Isildur as your witness.” Thengel opened a leather bound book, pages blank.

“Place your hand on the book, Mr Brandybuck, and repeat after me.”

Merry placed a grubby hand on the book with trepidation.

“I, Merry Brandybuck.” Droned Thengel,

“I, Merry Brandybuck.” Repeated Merry,

“Pledge Allegiance to the Book of the Literacy Club and to the Republic for which it stands, one School under Sauron, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.”

Merry looked blankly at the twins before taking a deep breath, “Say that I am about the life of the book, and the club…of literacy…not so much Sauron, but allegiance to republic…of school. Yes.” Merry winked at Thengel and Fengel and Aragorn smiled at him fondly.

“That will do, Mr Brandybuck.”

“Mr Brandybuck, that will do.”

“Aragorn, Son of Isildur--” Thengel began,

“Your services are no longer required.” Fengel finished.

“Bye Aragorn.” Eowyn waved enthusiastically, “call me!”

“Yeah, bye.” Aragorn backed out of the room, wondering just what he’d gotten Merry into.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, in case you were wondering, we are in fact sponsored by Microsoft.   
> As always, if you see any horrible mistakes then feel free to tell us, but also tell us that you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoy writing it xx :)


	3. Abandonment 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically, one of us moved to Canada and that's why it's taken ages.  
> Hang on tight, there's a lot of dialogue.  
> (It was fun)  
> (i think it's getting more crack!fic as we go on)  
> (we don't care)  
> (loves it)

“I’ve got my whole character planned, and _this_ is what’s going to ruin it all.” Faramir fell into a crouch, head in his hands, as Gimli gingerly patted his shoulder.

“That’s just fucking great for you isn’t it.” Eomer scowled,

“None of my cloaks are the right shade, Eomer. It’s a disaster.”

“Oh yes, what a fucking tragedy. I feel so _fucking_ sorry for you.” Eomer rolled his eyes, surveying the leaf-decked gym in distaste and sipping the Decaf tea Rohirrim had managed to procure.

“Boys, boys.” Legolas shook his head, “I, unlike you, am ready to go. This conversation is rather tedious.”

“I, _unlike you_ , was in hospital.” Faramir scowled, “I can’t just _go_! This is important, man! I’m the president of the Photography Club! I can’t just be…” He shuddered, “inaccurate.”

“Yeah yeah. You’re the most important person in the world. We get it.” Eomer continued to roll his eyes, hoping to gain support from Gimli, who clearly had no idea what was happening.

“What am I going to do?” Faramir’s voice was reaching an alarming volume, his face reddening.

“Go to the fucking store maybe?” Eomer rolled his eyes,

“You think it’s that easy, Eomer? You think I can just go to the _store_ and buy a handmade loose woven flax cloak in triple strength forest green? You think it’s that easy, Eomer?” Faramir’s hands had moved to his hair and were gripping it tightly,

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you people?” Eomer groaned while Gimli patted Farmir’s shoulder in confused sympathy,

“He doesn’t understand, Faramir.” Legolas soothed, “These uncultured types are all the same.”

“It’s just so hard sometimes.” He looked at Legolas pleadingly, who nodded in understanding,

“If you don’t go to the store I swear on the life of my motherfucking PA that I will make him kill you myself. Fuck off and get your _fucking_ costume you overrated piece of shit.” Eomer was not impressed.

“But it’s not at --”

“Don’t fucking speak. Go.”

Faramir heaved a deep and dramatic sigh before heading towards the door of the gym, leaving a sighing Eomer in his wake.

The same Eomer turned to eye Legolas and Gimli, “If you two don’t fucking work out whatever the fuck you’re doing, I will lock the fucking both of you in a wardrobe. And trust me, you won’t _fucking find_ Narnia there.”

…

Shadowfax revved, carrying the white leather-clad Gandalf towards the looming _Let ‘Em Have It_ \-- a popular sport warehouse near Eriador High, owned by Legolas’ father. Pippin, gleefully clinging to Gandalf’s back waved the happily pinging Microsoft Surface around in the air, shouting directions into the Head of Discipline’s ear.

“Mr Gandalf sir, can we go through the park?” Squeaked the sophomore in glee as Gandalf took another sharp turn,

“Peregrin Took! Treat the Microsoft Surface Device with the respect it deserves!” Gandalf’s mouth had tightened into a firm line and he turned his head to look disapprovingly at the small boy.

“Come on Gandalf, the park! The park!”

“Fool of a Too--” As he trailed off, Gandalf’s eyes were resting neither on the road nor Pippin, but on a figure who was walking briskly down the footpath, lime green scarf trailing behind him in a silken wave. Gandalf frowned, and Shadowfax skidded to a halt, flinging a screaming Pippin into Faramir, both of them collapsing on the ground in a cloud of lime body spray. Gandalf continued to frown as Faramir quickly picked himself up and offered a hand to Pippin, who was still sprawled untidily on the ground, shooting him a nervous, but charming smile. Pippin grinned and grasped the junior’s hand, jumping to his feet.

Time seemed to slow as the lime green Microsoft Surface device slipped out from under Pippin’s and fell onto the pavement below, bouncing a little before settling face up, as if pleading to be rescued.

Gandalf lept off Shadowfax, and in two elegant strides, was crouched next to the helpless device, an expression of tenderness and slight panic painted across his wrinkled features. He gingerly picked the tablet up by the edges and caressed the corner which had taken the brunt of the fall.

“Look what they’ve done to you.” He whispered, wiping the screen with a microfibre cloth, the Microsoft logo emblazoned on the soft material.

“Is he okay?” Faramir asked worriedly, narrowing his eyes at the crouching Head of Discipline who made no response. Pippin shrugged.

“Guy’s crazy if you ask me, but no one does.”

“Silence, Peregrin.” Gandalf snapped emphatically, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye before turning gravely toward Faramir, “And what are you doing here, Faramir, Son of Denethor.”

“Thranduil’s Costume Parlour.” Faramir informed him importantly, “I must pay a visit; the authenticity of my character for the prom hangs in the balance.”

Gandalf froze, horror written over every inch of his wise face. “But Son of Denethor, surely you must know…” he trailed off, looking helplessly at Faramir, whose eyes darkened with confusion,

“W-what do you mean I _must know_? What else could possible go wrong?" Faramir stuttered, his distress evident. "I should never have left the darkroom!” 

Gandalf let out a deep sigh and drew Faramir into an embrace, “I’m afraid they’ve outsourced.” He whispered gently, a hand running over the boy’s lime-scented tresses, “Their Medieval New Zealand range is no longer authentic.”

A broken sob issued from Faramir’s throat, “The fabrics, sir?”

“Yes. The fabrics.” Gandalf nodded sadly.

“I heard they have a really good My Little Pony Range.” Pippin’s jubilant tone disappeared, “Merry told me…” He joined in the quiet mourning with a shake of his head, “We used to have so much fun…”

The sniffling of Gandalf and Faramir abruptly stopped as they turned to glare at Pippin,

“Peregrin Took! Stop this foolishness at once. Never in my twenty years of studying costumery have I come across such nonsense as this My Little Pony range.” Gandalf snapped, supported by a nod from Faramir,

“I just...I just like the colours…” Pippin wilted.

“Enough of this tomfoolery, we must deliver Faramir back to school where he can prepare his costume in peace.”

“Thank you sir, thank you.” Faramir gave a slight bow toward the Head of Discipline, and swished his lime green scarf over one shoulder in readiness for the motorcycle ride to come.

…

The Gondor Common room was littered with various balls and equipment of the sporting variety, amongst which The Head of Discipline and Pippin were farewelling a disgruntled Faramir.

“I should leave,” Nodded Faramir gravely, “before my father decides to  make an appearance.”

“That would be wise, Son of Denethor. Very wise.” Gandalf placed a comforting hand on Faramir’s shoulder, “I am sure you will find your perfect costume.”

“Thank you kindly, sir.” Faramir turned toward the door, but only made it two paces before a harsh, deep voice came from behind him.

“Catch the ball, boy!”

Faramir turned in terror to see the lime green and black football sail towards his face, having just left his Coach Denethor’s hand.

Gandalf reached a hand out, metres away from the football’s path, as Pippin threw himself in front of Faramir, arms stretched out.

Faramir hardly had time to react as Pippin fell to the ground, football bouncing off his chest as it came to a rest somewhere among the balls. Pippin groaned dramatically and stretched comfortably out on the carpet.

Faramir’s father stood, surveying the scene, until his eyes came to rest on his son.

“I see you haven’t changed, son.” Denethor grunted as Faramir pursed his lips,

“Father, we had dinner last night. Together. As we do every night. I have not changed since dinner. No one has changed since dinner.”

“People change quickly, son. Your brother does. Without change, we fall behind. We get weak.” He looked disgustedly at Faramir, who let out a frustrated sigh,

“I am not required to change, father.”

“Why haven’t you brought it to me, son?”

“Brought you _what_?” Faramir looked at Pippin for help, who shrugged from the floor, still dazed.

“The photograph, son. You saw it. I don’t have it. You haven’t changed.”

“Dad, what the fuck?”

“Call me father when I speak to you, or you’ll be callin' me coach like the rest of 'em! Catch the ball, boy!” Denethor leant down to grasp a football, and threw it hard at his son.

Faramir ducked out of the way with a sigh before speaking, “Look, dad, father, whatever, I haven’t given you the photograph and Boromir wouldn’t have either.”

“Boromir’s a good boy! A faithful boy! He’ll get me the photograph, he’ll get me anythin' I ask.”

Faramir scratched the back of his head, embarrassed, “Dad, Boromir’s been expelled, remember?”

“Expelled or not, he’s still better son than you, eh?” Denethor turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, his white gym shorts gleaming in the light of the long windows that surrounded them.

“I should go…” Faramir sighed wearily, turning towards the door, only to be stopped as Pippin flung out a hand and grabbed his wrist.

“Faramir, you’re a cool guy.” The sophomore smiled.

“Uhm, thanks man--”

“Cooler than Boromir was.”

“Well, I wouldn--”

“Before he died.”

“Pippin, he didn’t--”

“But not as cool as Merry.”

“Boromir’s st--”

“No one’s as cool as Merry, Faramir, not even you.”

“Oh, uhm, okay. Thanks.” Faramir looked sideways at a chuckling Gandalf.

“We need to stay strong for Frodo and the Photograph.”

“Which one’s Fro--”

“Strong. Together we are strong, Faramir. Never forget.”

…

“I just don’t get you, Frodo.” Sam was frustrated, “First it was that time in physics when you passed me a note. In class. We were working, Frodo. I thought you were better than that! Then it was this photograph and Gollum and now it’s gone conceptual! What is art, Frodo? What is art?”

“What is art indeed, Samwise.” Whispered Frodo, looking into the porous depths of the carved citrus he had picked up off the floor, his eyes glazed in a way that made Sam growl with fury,

“You know what? I’m done with you, Frodo. I’m done.” Sam scrunched the wrapper of the muesli bar he’s been eating and turned to walk back in the direction from which they had come, leaving Frodo quite alone.

All of a sudden, Frodo heard whispers coming from the shadows that surrounded him. He clutched the lime protectively, staring warily around into the darkness.

“What a fine specimen”

“What I’d give to sketch those forearms.”

“Not often we see a nerd in the art room.”

“Oh, this is _so_ refreshing.”

“We’ll have fun with our pastels tonight.”

Frodo spun hurriedly, looking to Gollum for help, but the janitor seemed to be occupied with scrubbing the tiles with a toothbrush and paying Frodo no attention whatsoever.

Frodo’s clothes were slowly, and horrifyingly peeled off him, and he felt the paint covered hands of the art kids skimming over him in reverence as they took out their sketch pads.

…

“Welcome to this very important emergency Literacy Club meeting.” Thengel nodded at the occupants of the now filled club room,

“This Literacy Club meeting of an important nature, is an emergency.” Added Fengel, nodding at Thengel.

“We are here to discuss the emergency of the Prom and our task in the writing of the Important Speeches.” Thengel continued, ignoring his brother,

“The Important Speeches for the Prom, which need to be written with urgency will be discussed in this meeting.”

“So like, will they be discussed with urgency?” Merry chuckled from his seat at the table,

“Yes, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Newest Member of the Literacy Club, as sworn in by Aragorn Son of Isildur, they will be discussed with urgency.”

“Urgency is required when discussing emergencies, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Newest Mem--”

“So like why do you talk like that because I stop listening halfway through when the first one talks. I don’t even listen to the second one.” Shrugged Merry, looking around at the shocked and horrified faces of the literacy club.

“Our names are Thengel and Fengel, Joint Presidents of the Literacy Club--”

“Can’t really hear the difference to be honest.” Nodded Merry, pulling out a packet of lime flavoured chips and beginning to crunch happily.

The presidents of the literacy club cringed at the crumbs and spittle that marred the highly polished surface of the club table.

“The Literacy Club meeting will now begin with The Pledge.” Deadpanned Fengel, ignoring Merry entirely,

“To begin the Literacy Club meeting, we will speak The Pl--”

“Do we have to? I mean like guys I just did that, I don’t wanna do it again.” whinged Merry, lime flavoured crumbs coating his chin.

The Literacy Club erupted in whispers.

“Blasphemy!”

“Surely not!”

“Does he even _read_?”

“ _Can_ he even read?”

“Guys!” Eowyn’s soft, reedy voice cut through the hubbub, “We’re not going to be able to finish the speeches for Aragorn unless we start now! Dad’s coming to help but we need to start! We can’t disappoint Aragorn! He’s counting on us!” She looked down at her lap, cheeks reddening, “He’s counting on me.” She whispered to herself.

“We must begin with The Pledge immediately. Mr Theoden is coming and we must finish the speeches without delay. The Head Boy is counting on us.” Thengel completely ignored Eowen,

“The Head Boy counts on us to write the speeches without delay, and so we must speak The Pledge before Mr Theoden comes.” Fengel nodded importantly,

“We Pledge Allegiance to the Book of the Literacy Club and to the Republic for which it stands, one School under Sauron, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.” The Literacy club droned in unison, lead by Thengel and Fengel,

“And with the stuff and book for us.” Grinned Merry, elbowing Eowen, “I remembered it, Eowen, man, I’m really good.”

“Merry! That’s amazing!” Eowen piped, clasping her hands together with joy.

It was at this moment that Theoden entered, phone in hand and smile on his face.

“Gandalf just mailed me the cutest jif of a lolcat, and what can I say,” He looked at Eowen with quiet intensity, “I loled.”

“Dad, I think it’s pronounced gif.” Offered Eowen meekly,

“Your insolence astounds me. The creator says it’s jif. Check your sources, sweetheart.” Theoden pursed his lips in righteousness,

“ _Dad_.”

“No hate please.” Smiled Theoden, turning to the rest of the Literacy Club, “Everyone, we need to begin writing, does everyone remember how to write a speech correctly?”

“Oh, naturally.”

“Learnt it in the Summer of my sixth year.”

“I’ve read _all_ of Nelson Mandela’s speeches.”

“I perform them weekly.” Merry grinned around the room only to be met with silence,

“We don’t do that. We’re all introverts here.” Eowen nodded kindly at Merry, patting his greasy hand.

“It’s not as though you’d be writing any anyway, speech writing isn’t what the likes of you are supposed to do.” Theoden raised an eyebrow, looking up from his phone to address Merry,

“S’all good, didn’t really wanna to be honest...like kinda boring, no?” Merry shrugged,

“He holds the right to oratory in the same way the rest of us do!” Shrieked Eowen, jumping out of her seat and glaring at her father, who typed fiercely on his phone.

The all-male literacy club shuffled uncomfortably at the sight of Eowen’s body under her lumpy, lime green school jumper.

Theoden, after a second, looked up from his phone in delayed alarm at the sudden movement, “Well, of course he holds the same rights as you, sweetheart.” For a moment, Eowen positively glowed at Merry, who shrugged and licked his fingers with relish. “None.”

Eowen crumbled, “Dad! What do you mean?”

“Look sweetheart, boys don’t like girls who talk too much. Writing speeches is the same as talking, and so it isn’t something you should occupy yourself with. I’ll link you to some studies about it on my blog. They’re very informative. Getting into Men’s Rights Activism has opened my mind so much to the injustices. I hate living in an oppressive, matriarchal world.” He strode past Eowen and sat in the seat she’d left unoccupied when she stood, beaming at the rest of the literacy club, “So what’s on the agenda, lads?”

Eowen fumed.

…

Aragorn was drooling over the blond junior and gym decorator, as he took leaves out of a box on the floor, and pinned them to the wall of the gym. Every leaf that Aragorn placed floated disappointingly onto the floor, causing Aragorn to grin sheepishly at the blond, who scowled, feeling exposed. Aragorn however, was not deterred as he placed leaf after leaf, with cheerful ignorance, onto the wall, eyes raking the blond openly enough to warrant a sexual harassment lawsuit.

Elrond, having just entered the gym, looked on in agonising disapproval for a moment, before  sighing.

“Aragorn, desist in your predatory advances and come with me.” He snapped at a disgruntled Strider,

“But Elrond! Look!” Grinned Aragorn, gesturing grandly toward the blond, who had just bent over to pick up one of Aragorn’s failed attempts at decoration.

“Regardless of your raging libido,” Elrond swallowed, averting his eyes, “important events still continue. Come with me.”

“But El _rond_ ,” whined Aragorn, stretching the counselor's name with glee, “I’m _busy_.”

“That concerns no one.” Elrond gritted, gracefully clasping a hand around Aragorn’s wrist.

“You’re not my _real_ dad.” Muttered Aragorn, much to Elrond’s chagrin.

Elrond pulled Aragorn down the halls until they reached his office, freshly painted lime green door hanging open in what Elrond thought was a rather distasteful way. The counselor wrinkled his nose as he stepped over the threshold, a moping Aragorn in tow.

“Now I hope you’re grateful, Aragorn, because what I have to tell you is of the utmost importance, what I have to _give_ you, is of the utmost importance--”

“Unless it’s that blond guy’s number, I’m not interested.” Aragorn shrugged, sprawling into the armchair opposite Elrond’s desk

Elrond shuddered, raising a hand to his temples, “You have a _girlfriend_. She happens to be my _daughter._ ”

“We have an arrangement, s’all good.” Shrugged Aragorn, “So why did you bring me here, like what do you want? Can I go yet?” He whined, picking up a paperweight off the cherrywood desk and tossing it from hand to hand.

Elrond gritted his teeth, eyes following the path of the bronze paperweight, “I presume you know about your father?”

“My dad was awesome! Have you seen his trophy, the one in the case? It’s the biggest one!” He grinned ecstatically up at Elrond,

“Focus, Aragorn.” The counselor attempted to remain calm, it wasn’t easy,  “I must tell you that it is time for the badge to be re-polished. It is time for you to accept your family name and bear the mantle. It is time for the school to once again experience the Return of the Head Boy.” Elrond waited for the message to sink in. The paperweight rested in Aragorn’s hand as he nodded enthusiastically,

“Cool, sir.” For once, Aragorn, Son of Isildur, was actually paying attention. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if there are typos, let us know.  
> Theoden happened.  
> We don't know how  
> We don't know why  
> <3


	4. Peaceful Negotiations 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live in Australia, Bibi lives in Canada and internet makes things difficult.
> 
> As always, we had a lot of fun writing this and hope it'll be fun to read :) <3

The harsh, fluorescent art room lights snapped on, prompting the art kids to cower in agony behind their sketch pads, half finished pictures of Frodo pointed towards Sam, who stood in the doorway. Sam grimaced for a moment, looking at the nude sketches briefly before tapping his iPod Nano. _Baby_ by Justin Bieber, blasted quietly through the Apple headphones. The art kids flinched further, dropping their sketches and backing away from a naked Frodo, who quickly covered himself with his hands. Sam strode towards Frodo, who stared at the ground in shame.

“Oh Sam,” Frodo sighed, “it’s all over now, the art kids took the photograph.”

Sam raised his eyebrows in annoyance and dropped to one knee in front of Frodo. Frodo stared down at him, wondering just what the hell Sam was doing. In the next second Sam righted himself quickly, photograph in hand, Justin’s falsetto ringing in the background.

“Well first of all,” he said, pulling a bag of salted nuts from his pocket, “you’re welcome.” Frodo stared at the nuts and Sam shrugged, “Trying to cut out sugar right now, the Prom’s tonight and all. Might get bloated. You know how it is.” He shrugged again, “Anyway, second of all, we don’t really need this.” He flapped the photograph towards Frodo, “It’s on the database anyway, if anything, this is just excess risk. And you know what they teach us about excess risk.”

“Sam, I know you take business,” Frodo sighed, “but not all of us are _like that_.”

“Don’t talk to me like a humanities student, Frodo.” Sam snapped, “You know I’m better than that, and anyway, that’s not the point.”

“We need the photograph, Sam, they told us we need it. It’s symbolic of the cause.” Frodo insisted, pointing at the lime still on the floor, “Like the lime, Sam. You didn’t understand that either, it was conceptual!”

“Frodo, I didn’t know how much this would change you.” Sam shoved a handful of salted nuts into his mouth and chewed violently, “Talking about conceptualism like it matters. Physics matters, science matters, _facts_ matter Frodo. _Matter_ matters. Not this. I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Oh Sam.” Frodo slowly pulled his pants on, “This has taken its toll, I know, I know.” he shook his head emphatically, “But what we must focus on, I _feel_ , is the destruction of the photograph and all it represents, once and for all. That’s what Bilbo wanted, that’s what my uncle wanted.”

“You’re right, Frodo. Maybe conceptualism isn’t so bad after all, not if it gets us where we need to be.” Sam handed Frodo his shirt as Ludacris began his verse.

“Sam,” Frodo said gently, “please get better taste in music.”

…

“Oh my God, Merry, I am _so_ nervous!” Eowen fanned herself with her Princess Aurora limited edition make-up bag, almost hitting herself in the face in the process.

“Yeah!” Merry squealed, trying to match her enthusiasm and failing.

“I’ve never even been to a prom!” Eowen screeched excitedly, “Dad never let me go! He said there are no sandwiches to make at prom! He said there isn’t even a kitchen, no place for me then.”

“Uh...that’s not very --” Merry began, concerned, but Eowen continued,

“What are we going to wear!” She exclaimed, “I have to look so pretty! Because _everyone’s_ going to be there! _Aragorn’s_ going to be there!” She blushed,

“Yeah…” Merry shrugged,

“ _I have to look so pretty!_ ” She opened her make-up bag and began heartily applying powder straight to her face. “So…” she wheedled, “are there any _girls_ you wanna look uh...well…” She shrugged, “Well I guess because you’re a guy you don’t really have to look pretty for girls...that’s more our job.” She nodded knowingly, “As women.”

Merry raised his eyebrows, horrified, “Uh...maybe not. But uh, okay then.”

“So…” She began to apply lurid pink eyeshadow to her brow bone, “Who is it?”

“Oh you know, just Pippin, really.” He shrugged,

“I’m so okay with that.” Eowen nodded, “I guess it’s because we’re so progressive, like, there’s actually no homophobia anymore, like, we’re so open-minded. We’re allies. You’re so brave.”

“That’s not really what --”

“We’re all human, Merry, it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter, remember that.” Eowen clasped Merry’s hands in her own, the pink eye-shadow rubbing off onto Merry’s fingers,

“Uh...okay, sure.” He nodded,

“This is a safe space.” Eowen stroked his hand, “You can _totally_ talk to me if you feel depressed. I think I always knew, you know, Merry.”

“We just met…” Merry trailed off, “And I’m not even…”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Eowen shushed, “You don’t have to deny it anymore. Not here, not now. Now go get that blue tie from my cupboard! Make sure it matches your eyes, and go get him!” She fluttered her eyelashes, the pink eyeshadow coating them slowly, “But I don’t have to tell you that! You should be giving _me_ tips.”

…

Hallway number 72 was dimly lit, as if for dramatic effect. Sam and Frodo walked towards the door of the staff computer lab with growing trepidation.

“You know the password?” Sam whispered, quickly stepping out of the range of one of the security cameras,

“How could I forget.” Frodo sighed, reaching towards the door,

“Well I mean you forgot last time.” Sam grumbled as Frodo began to punch in the letters L-I-M-E.

“That was another time, Sam. Not this time,” Frodo shook his head, “never again.”

As they walked into the computer lab, Sam grabbed for Frodo’s hand.

“Frodo.” He looked deep into his friend’s eyes, “You don’t have to do this alone. I may not be able to carry this burden or conceptualise it. But I can carry your hacking skills and augment them with my own.”

“Oh Sam,” Frodo sighed as he pulled away, walking to the bank of computers and booting up the first one, “such emotive language for a math geek.”

“Numbers aren’t all I know, Frodo.” Sam nodded wisely, pulling up a chair next to Frodo, “I know you. And I can help.”

Frodo nodded before accessing the admin account, “But like,” he began, “as a friend thing, you know, I don’t really...well,” he shrugged, “no homo. Well.” He looked Sam up and down, “Not for me, anyway.”

…

_Edge of Night_ blared dreamily through the speakers as Legolas bobbed his head appreciatively. The gym had been transformed into an accurate Medieval New Zealand, triple strength forest green boughs bending across the roof as students milled about in full medieval regalia. The exception were the students of Mordor School for Boys, who shuffled uncomfortably in the lavishly dressed crowd, some in jeans, some still in their disgustingly garrish school uniforms. Legolas surveyed the room and smoothed down his sage green and silver robe, his diamond studded circlet glinting in the light.

“This song is so accurate.” Legolas nodded at Gimli, “Like my costume. They’re both just so...Medieval New Zealand.”

“Sure.” Gimli grunted staring down at his own Royal Blue robes. “Are you sure this is uh...Medieval _New Zealand_ enough?”

“Of course it is Gimli.” Legolas waved a dismissive hand, “I dressed you.”

Before Gimli could respond, or comment about the braids in his hair, Aragorn came ambling up to them, Head Boy badge gleaming lime green and looking out of place against his brown tunic and fake chainmail.

“Hey guys…” He began, invading their personal space immediately and without thought, “Looking good by the way!” He tapped both boys gently on the arse and grinned, “Very Festive Norway!”

“That’s not the --” Legolas began in irritation, but was cut off when Aragorn placed a finger on his lips,

“Shhh,” he shushed, “that’s not what I’m here about.”

“What are you here about.” Gimli grunted, crossing his arms and staring daggers at Aragorn, who still had his finger on Legolas’ lips.

“It’s this burning, tingling feeling I’ve been having.” He nodded solemnly,

Legolas brushed Aragorn’s finger from his lips, disgusted, “I rather hope this is a recent development. You won’t be accusing me, I’m sure.”

Gimli looked between between the two of them, startled, “You’re not saying --” He looked down between Aragorn’s legs with mild distaste, before looking back up at Legolas, “You didn’t --” He swallowed, “Because we have --”

Legolas scowled, “Don’t speak such nonsense Gimli.”

“Guys I haven’t had chlamydia…” He grinned and winked at Gimli, “ _this_ year.”

“You never cease to disgust me.” Legolas snapped, “Now what is it you wanted?”

“Well it’s this tingling burning feeling, like I said.” Aragorn explained, “It’s just this feeling, about Arwen...I think, you know...I think…”

“Do you. I hadn’t noticed.” Legolas scowled, adjusting his circlet in disdain,

“Well I do.” Aragorn proclaimed, “And I think Arwen’s gunna lose her popularity.”

“And what a tragedy that would be.” Legolas smirked, “I feel...so _bad_ for you.”

“Thanks!” Aragorn slapped Legolas heartily on the back, grinning up at him, “You know...all Gandalf did was recommend me to his doctor. How’s a doctor gunna help Arwen? Is he a popularity doctor? Because I’ve never needed one of those before…”

Before Legolas could throw another cutting remark, he was tapped on the shoulder by a short blond man dressed in a gayly coloured waistcoat and suspenders.

“Hello boys.” He began in a business-like voice. However, as soon as Legolas turned, he uttered a noise of surprise and delight, “Oh! It’s you! From the…” He trailed off as he stared at Gimli and Aragorn, “And another one too! Are you...do you...are you all…” He stared, “I have my camera. I always have my camera.”

“Are we what?” Legolas snapped, “Rich, well-bred, popular, beautiful?” He smoothed his sage green robe,

“Oh I’m sure.” The man nodded, extending a hand to Legolas, “I’m Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins, photographer.” He winked at Aragorn, whose mouth slowly dropped open.

“Photographer.” He said, “Like...photographer...you mean _photographer_. _The_ photographer. You are...a photographer. Like...you know...the...wow…” Aragorn stared in awe,

“Yes Aragorn.” Legolas sighed, “He did mention.”

“No!” Aragorn grinned, “Legolas, this is...he’s... _our_ photographer!”

“Oh.” Legolas gulped before collecting himself, “Oh! _That_ photographer.” He looked Bilbo up and down, unimpressed. Gimli stared at the ground uncomfortably, pulling at his robe and adjusting his exact replica axe, wishing he were anywhere but at the prom.

“My professional career aside,” Bilbo Baggins smiled good-naturedly, “we need more music. We only have two songs, we’ve played them both. A lot.”

Before any of them could reply, Gandalf sailed towards them. Gone were the grey pants, and white leather motorcycle jacket. They had been replaced by flowing white robes and a brilliant white staff.

“Good evening, Bilbo, my old friend.” Gandalf smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth, “So good to see you. I see you have met Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn: our new Head Boy.” Gandalf made sure not to touch Aragorn as he pointed towards him.

“Sir, it’s not chlamydia this time.” Aragorn sighed, but Gandalf ignored him.

“I was just saying to these boys, we need more music.” Bilbo nodded,

“Well,” Gandalf’s eyes twinkled ever brighter, “You’ve come to the right people. Aragorn here can certainly help, despite his...ahhh... _condition_.”

“I can…” Aragorn asked, in awe, “How…”

“You are Head Boy, are you not? If anyone can do this, it is you.” Gandalf nodded wisely, “Who has music in the school, tell me?”

Aragorn stared blankly at Gandalf. Legolas sighed, “The art kids, Aragorn, you should know this.”

“Are those the guys who play the stuff I can’t twerk to?” Aragorn asked,

“Yes Aragorn.” Nodded Legolas wisely, “And God forbid, you cannot twerk.”

“So are we gunna...go?” Gimli asked, gesturing towards the door of the gym, “Because I like _Misty Mountains_ but it’s been played six times…”

“Right.” Legolas nodded, “An excellent idea.”

....

“Wow...I’ve never heard _this_ kind of music before.” Aragorn stared around the art room in awe, taking in the nude sketches of Frodo which plastered the walls, “I like…I couldn’t take shots to this.”

“This is a popular song, Aragorn. We’ve heard this on the radio. You’ve listened to this before,” Legolas angsted, “you were obsessed with _Take me To Church_ , for three months, Aragorn, it was the only song you ever played.”

“Dude nah, I just kept forgetting to not have it on replay you know?” He turned to Gimli for validation, who shrugged.

“This is _Arsonist’s Lullaby_.” An art kid stepped from the shadows, breaking away from a larger group in the darkness to approach them, “It’s one of Hozier’s earlier works. You probably haven’t heard of it. Personally, we feel he’s gone downhill of late. Ever since he was featured on Z100 New York. And all those awards too. He’ll never be what he was. Happened to Gotye, happening to Hozier. When will we be enough?”

“My father sponsored his last world tour. We own him now.” Legolas shrugged and flipped his hair nonchalantly as Gimli narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

Immediately, whispers broke from the art kids clustered in the corner.

“You monster!”

“Corporate pig!”

“Capitalist scum!”

“Commercial sellout!”

“Guys, guys chill; we’re chill, am I right?” Aragorn grinned, hand placed firmly on his head boy badge for security as he smiled around at the crowd.

“Fuck’s sake Aragorn, we just need music.” Gimli grunted, leaning on his exact replica axe and looking quite disgruntled.

Another art kid strode out from the herd. An obvious leader, his ripped jeans and plaid shirt stood out in the dimly lit art room, his Arizona Iced Tea grasped grimmly in his heavily tattooed hands. He twirled the mint green and pink bottle in his fingers and adjusted his Tame Impala tee shirt before opening his mouth to speak in rough, mellow tones,

“Isn’t it prom or something tonight?” He began and Aragorn immediately perked up, turning his head to listen as the art kid continued his attractive drawl, “You know, I just don’t subscribe to institutions such as those. They hold no power over me, over us.” His multiple bracelets shifted up his arm as he took a sip of his Arizona Iced Tea and gestured behind him at the angry art kids streaming from the shadows. He extended his hand toward Aragorn, “I’m Dwimorberg. At birth, my parents called me Adam, but I just don’t feel like that’s me anymore. I identify with this, it means _Haunted Mountain_. It’s my kind of name, you know?”

Aragorn gently grasped the pleasingly rough hand, still under the Dwimorberg’s spell,

“Oh, I know, we know.”

Legolas gulped, eyes glazed as he stared at the leader of the art kids, “Yes, definitely.”

Gimli cleared his throat, “Music.” He snapped, glaring at Dwimorberg from under his bushy eyebrows.

“So you do need something from us then. No surprise to us, people like you always need something, want something. It’s a pervasive attitude that infects our society. Desires. Desires are our downfall and --”

Legolas and Aragorn nodded, entranced at Dwimorberg’s speech. But Gimli was having none of it.

“No, Music. Now.”

“You have no power here.” Dwimorberg’s eyebrows drew together  “Power, in itself is the--”

“I swear to God, Aragorn show him the badge.” Gimli snapped, nudging Aragorn who turned quickly to stare down at Gimli,

“The what…” He trailed off, vision slightly blurry,

“You are literally holding it in your hand,” Gimli glared, squaring his shoulders, “We are here to do a job. We need music. Now.” He stared around at the art kids and Legolas, who was fingering his circlet, eyes still trained on Dwimorberg. Gimli gritted his teeth and reached out a hand, shoving Legolas, who promptly lost his footing, his long limbs reaching out to brace a fall that never came. Dwimorberg’s arm shot out and his fingers circled Legolas’ wrist, pulling him upright and against his chest.

“You smell like sandalwood and teak, it’s so…” Legolas’ eyelashes fluttered as he stared up at his saviour.

“Yeah. Musky.” Gimli deadpanned, staring at Dwimorberg without blinking, “Break it up.”

Legolas scrambled to his feet, cheeks reddening as he stared between Gimli and Dwimorberg, “Yes, uhm, quite. Yes.” He took a calming breath and flicked his wrist in the Head Boy’s direction, “Aragorn, show him the badge. Now.”

“Sure boss.” Aragorn winked at the flustered blond before pointing at his lime-green badge with glee, “Here it is boys, you know what to do. Boot up you Microsoft Surfaces and follow us to prom!”

“We use Macs. They’re cleaner.” Dwimorberg rolled his eyes and pulled out his black and gold iPhone 5s to muster the remaining scattered art kids, but was interrupted by a high, reedy voice from the corner of the room.

“Uhm, actually. We don’t have to do anything.”

The gathered crowd turned to stare at the small, gangly freshman who stood in the corner, arms crossed, an informed smirk plastered on his face. “Where was the announcement?” All eyes narrowed in confused annoyance, “It says in the 2015 Amended Official Eriador High Handbook that all important events, changes to schedule or instatement of new hierarchies are only to be instated by an official announcement by an admin. I heard no such announcement.”

“He’s right, we don’t need to help you.” Dwimorberg sipped his ice tea balefully, eyeing the trio with grim satisfaction. It was short lived, Legolas rolled his eyes and sighed.

“I’ll text Gandalf.”

“I thought so.” preened the freshman, rubbing at his patchy stubble.

…

“So Mr Coach Sir, are we gunna go to prom?” bounced Pippin, vaguely ball shaped purple bruises blooming on his exposed skin as he held several footballs in his arms.

Denethor outstretched a muscled, leathery arm and squinted at the lime-green FitBit™ fastened around his wrist.

“Hmmm, Faramir will be here to review in around exactly eight seconds.” He narrowed his eyes at the sophomore and muttered, “Catch the ball, boy.” kicking him as he lurched by.

A crackling suddenly broke from the speaker in the corner of the room and Gandalf’s voice could be heard, slightly slurred.

“It is my absolute pleasure -- such a wonderful pleasure,” he began, “to inform you as an official admin, as Head of Discipline, in fact,” A small giggle crackled over the speakers, “and I am announcing officially, fancy that! I am announcing that Aragorn, Son of Isildur is our new head boy!” Muffled clapping could be heard as Gandalf brought his hands together and giggled, “and what a head boy he’ll be so long as he…” more crackling giggles were heard through the speaker “well, as long as he keeps everything _clean_ this time, am I righ--” A sharp thud was heard and the counsellor’s unimpressed tone took over,

“Aragorn is Head Boy. Enjoy your Prom.”

“Happy Gloomy France Prom everybody!” There was another thud, then a light click and the announcement ended, leaving Merry and Denethor in confused silence.

At that moment Faramir sashayed through the door, bringing with him a cloud of lime body spray and channeling New Zealand. His triple strength forest green cloak fluttered in the breeze from the open window as he surveyed the room. “It’s Medieval New Zealand. I see Gandalf’s punch was spiked, then.”

“Strong. Together. We’re strong.” Piped Pippin encouragingly, right eye swelling shut as he grinned up at junior.

Faramir narrowed his eyes in bewilderment before hastily looking away from the battered sophomore.

“So dad, can I go yet?”

“That’s father to you, boy!” Denethor snapped, turning to address his son.

“But dad--”

“COACH!”

“Yeah, okay fine. _Father_.” Faramir rolled his eyes as if the word pained him, “Can I go to prom yet? Are you done yet, like seriously, I didn’t invest in a handmade loose woven flax cloak in triple strength forest green to have it be wasted in…” he looked around at the various sport equipment strewn about the office with vague disgust, “...here.”

“That’s the last straw, boy!” The football coach’s face began to redden.

“What is it now, dad?” Faramir sighed, cleaning underneath his newly-clipped fingernails.

“Our streak has ended, son. It’s over.” Denethor lunged across the office in rage, grasping the irritated Faramir by the wrist and dragging him to the door as Pippin watched from the corner, tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

“Dad, what the fuck?”

“You’re not going to prom, boy. Not this year. And neither am I.” Coach Denethor’s meaty hand tugged at Faramir as he pulled him towards the door.

“Dad seriously my cloak’s going to get snags in it you should polish your floor more often.”

Pippin stood up from the corner and dried his tears on the the grass-stained sport uniform. He clenched his fists and pounced on the football coach in a fit of gleeful rage.

“Don’t worry Faramir, I got you!” He squealed before sinking his teeth into Denethor’s leathery wrist, missing the lime-green FitBit™ by centimetres.

“AGAINST THE RULES OF FOOTBALL” Denethor wailed, pulling back his hand and letting go of Faramir long enough for his son to stand and dust himself off.

“Dad, what the fuck? This isn’t football, my God.”

“BOY!” Denethor growled, once more lunging towards Faramir, who stepped neatly out of the way.

“Okay dad, so I’m going to prom and you need to let it go.”

“Yeah, we’re going to prom.” Grinned Pippin, grabbing Faramir’s hand and dragging him out the door in a flutter of woven flax and lime scent.

…

The staff computer lab was surprisingly well lit as Frodo tapped away wearily, code appearing green on the black screen, slower and slower before coming to a halt.

“Why, Sam?”

“Huh?” Sam stopped chewing on his salted nuts in surprise, “Why what?”

“Well, why are we doing this? Look where we are.” Frodo gestured in defeat around the fluorescent room.

“Are you seriously having this conversation with me right now?” Sam stared down at his friend in mild irritation.

“Well I mean, what are we getting out of this?”

“Did you not actually listen to me when I said--” Frodo cut him off with a sigh,

“We’ve not seen the others for so long, Sam. What if they’re just using us?”

“Did this not concern you before?” Sam shoved his hand into his packet of salted nuts, anger at Frodo’s near sightedness flitting at the edges of his vision. Of course he would bring this up now when they were so close to it being _done, over_. He gritted his teeth around a particularly salty cashew.

“Sam, What if the jocks stay in power?”

“Master asks the right questions.” Out of the blue, Gollum’s janitor cart rattled through the door, windex wobbling in the the lime green bucket it had been placed into slightly precariously.

The two sophomores gasped, looking up at the janitor in shock; but before they could collect themselves, the door to hallway 72 opened once more.

In walked Galadriel, sipping a Diet Lime Soda drink, a paper plate heaped with Caesar Salad perched delicately on a pale hand.

Frodo gulped, hands clenched in his lap as they began to sweat, “Miss Galadriel?”

“I’ve come to offer guidance in your darkest hour.” She smiled serenely, moving to pull out a lime green plastic chair and perching herself gracefully on the edge. She took a small, dainty bite of iceberg lettuce and chewed, only speaking again once she swallowed, “In times such as these, one must remember their true nature in order to lead themselves in the righteous path.”

Gollum nodded sagely from his position by the door and the windex wobbled again.

“But what does that mean? What do I--” Frodo exclaimed in frustration,

“Follow your heart Frodo, then you’ll know.”

“I still don’t know so...”

Galadriel shrugged and bit into a crouton.

…

Cloaks of assorted greens whirled on the dancefloor as the bass thudded through the gym. Legolas’ lip curled as he looked at the speakers, “Not very Medieval New Zealand if you ask me.”

Eomer walked past, slightly wobbly, with the small Rohirrim scrambling behind him, “And nobody fucking did.”

Legolas shot him a baleful look and scowled, ready to retort, but was almost bowled over by Merry, who had just spotted Pippin and ran towards him.

The two met amongst a group of unfamiliar, yet still slightly distasteful Mordor School for Boys students, clad in blood orange letterman jackets and dancing clumsily.

Before the reunited two could voice their glee, the Witch King’s voice boomed through the gym, halting the music as all attention turned to the stage, slight unease descending on the crowd.

“Due to an alteration in the curfew, speeches will begin immediately. All pupils with prepared speeches are to line up next to the stage.”

Across the room, Gandalf glanced at Elrond,

“Frodo needs more time. We need someone who can talk.”

Elrond pursed his lips in distaste, “Of course we do.”

The pair nodded at one another, and the counselor strode through the crowd toward what was left of the Photograph Destruction Squad.

…

In the staff computer lab, Frodo sat back and exhaled as he stared at the numbers flicking on his screen. He was in.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'd like to thank the official sponsors of this chapter:  
> Apple  
> Disney  
> FitBit  
> Island Records  
> School Boy Records  
> Interscope Records  
> Arizona Green Tea  
> iHeartRadio  
> Microsoft
> 
> We hope you enjoyed this chapter and hope to finish this series off quite soon <3   
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	5. IT 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final showdown, two years later and still an epilogue to go. we haven't forgotten

Elrond stopped and stared dismally at the remnants of The Photograph Destruction Squad, plus a bedraggled Rohirrim standing next to a seething Eomer, scowling at Faramir, who was happily applying yet another layer of lime body spray.

“Do you not fucking realise, that that does not fucking smell fucking nice?” Eomer snapped, rounding on Faramir as Elrond stepped up to them.

“But Eomer,” Smirked Faramir, pointing the perfume bottle at the stand-in football captain threateningly, “Limes are good.”  He sprayed the lime scent at the Rohan house captain and lept behind a grinning Aragorn, ready to shield himself for Eomer’s wrath.

However, no wrath could ensue, as Elrond the counselor held up a calm hand.

“Gentlemen, this is not the time, nor the place for such tomfoolery. There are far more important matters which need to be attended to.”

“Very accurate tiara, Mr Undomiel, perfectly Medieval New Zealand.” Legolas nodded knowingly,

Elrond swallowed hard, “Yes, it’s Arwen’s.” He glared at Aragorn, who smiled back,

“I think I’ve worn that one too, Sir,” He winked, “Am I right?” He held up his hand expectantly, and a dejected Rohirrim complied. 

“What do you want?” Gimli grunted, turning his glare from Aragorn to the tiara clad counselor.

Elrond flinched, eyeing off Gimli’s braids with mild distaste, flicking a disappointed glance in Legolas’ direction, “Frodo needs more time, and--”

“Which one of them is that?” Legolas interrupted dismissively

“He’s kinda like cute but in a really short way, like when a nerd is a good nerd.” Aragorn nodded, satisfied with his description, “My little nerd.”

Elrond and Legolas withered, and pretended the Head Boy said nothing.

“He needs more time to hack the hard drive, and it’s down to you to draw the speeches out. The Literacy Club were useless, no content was useable. You’ll need to improvise.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eomer shot Aragorn a look of questioning derision before seeming to change his mind. He shook his head, “No, wait I don’t fucking care, do not tell me, I do not fucking want to be dragged into another one of your fucking schemes.” He turned to leave, Rohirrim trailing behind, but was stopped by Aragorn’s hand on his shoulder.

“Dude, no.” Aragorn said, loudly, pointing at the gleaming badge on his chest, “You have have a duty. It’s to me. We’re in this together. We’re a squad man, we’re a squad.”

“I’m not fucking part of your fucking squad.” Eomer glared, pulling his arm away from Aragorn.

“But Eo _mer_ , we’re a squad!” Aragorn whined.  
“Fuck off. I swear to fucking Jesus on the motherfucking cross, Aragorn, when you speak it’s like being smashed over the head multiple times by a fucking chainsaw, that is the fucking extent to which I hate you, because you know what, Aragorn? You know fucking what? I wouldn’t mind being beaten _over the fucking head_ by anything, really, because it would mean that I fucking wouldn’t have to fucking listen to you ever again. Fuck.”

“My friends, hush.” Gandalf, seemingly appearing from nowhere, placed both hands gently on Eomer’s head from behind. He nodded calmly, smiling around at the group, “We must act, and soon.”

“Ah, a white and yellow gold antique combination with an oval cut ruby. A ruby of top quality too. How very Medieval New Zealand of you.” Legolas nodding approvingly at the ring adorning Gandalf’s finger. 

“The intricate knot-work around the band makes it, if I’m honest.” Faramir noted, “Well done Mr Gandalf.”

Legolas and Faramir shared an approving look and Gimli shuffled closer to his boyfriend, shooting Faramir a swift glare.

…

“But Sam…” Whispered Frodo in existential defeat, staring at the file which was to be deleted.

“Jesus Christ Frodo just do it.” Sam bit into a muesli bar in frustration, having long since forsaken his salted nuts for something with a little more substance.

“Sam, I don’t think I can.”

“Master is right! Master can’t do it!” Cackled Gollum, gleefully clutching Frodo’s shoulder, who brushed him off in panic and looked at Galadriel for support.

The substitute teacher gave him none, instead inspecting a small piece of iceberg lettuce for blemishes before putting it in her mouth and crunching serenely.

…

A hush descended over the prom as Arwen Undomiel swanned into the room. She wore a floor-length cloak, the metallic purple hood drawn over her perfectly contoured face, fake eyelashes fluttering alluringly below her gem studded tiara. She stopped when she saw the remains of the Photograph Destruction Squad.

“Daddy so you know that I’m the prom queen,” Elrond sighed as his daughter addressed him, “but I don’t have a crown.” Her gaze swept over the assembly of costumed boys and landed on Aragorn. “Where’s my crown?” she looked around again, agitated this time, until her eyes rested on Gimli, who edged closer to Legolas, “Where is it, little man?” she smirked, causing the shop kid to wince,

“Well first of all,” Began Legolas, putting a hand on Gimli’s shoulder and striding forward, “your robe is tacky, and your tiara?” He looked her up and down and folded his arms, “Well, let’s not even go there. Second of all, he doesn’t have it. He doesn’t care. Nobody does. You’re not even the Prom Queen--”

Elrond’s cool fury cut Legolas off, “Now now, let’s not put other people’s popularity into question, Mr Greenleaf.” His gaze fixed on the tall blonde, “It’s dangerous path you’re treading.”

“Guys, guys, we have a quest. We’re a squad and we have a quest and we are not on our quest.” Aragorn nodded knowingly, “You know what? Because I can track things -- Legolas knows I can track things --” He grinned at Legolas, who shook his head in quiet rage, “As my first official act as official Head Boy, I announce that we will find this crown.”

“My crown.” Simpered Arwen, draping her arm around the quarterback, pointed French manicured nails biting into his chest as he grinned,

“Yeah babe. Stage.” 

The Head Boy strode through the gyrating crowd toward the towering stage, leaving the group to fend for themselves in the crush as the crowd parted around the couple.

They reached the booth from which Tame Impala was playing obnoxiously.

“You need to stop.” Smirked Arwen at the pubescent DJ, clasping his cheek in her hand and tugging.

He swallowed, pulling his half shade too dark triple strength forest green tunic down over his characteristically shabby jeans and nodded hurriedly. 

Legolas, having caught up to the couple, eyed the DJ disparagingly, “Really? That’s your effort?  _ Help _ these days.” He rolled his eyes and pushed past the frozen DJ, the rest of the Photograph Destruction Squad following closely behind.

The music was abruptly cut off as Gandalf strode toward the microphone, white cloak billowing out behind him. He stopped at the microphone and smiled at the crowd serenely before raising a hand toward the microphone to tap. He cleared his throat before lowering his mouth toward the electronic device.

“Test test…One two three.” He coughed nervously and looked back toward Aragorn for clarification, who gave him a thumbs up, and continued, “Three two one…test…testing…testing one two three…” He tapped the device once more, “test…” He took a deep breath and brought the the microphone closer to his mouth. “Okay, I think we’re on.” He cleared his throat and twirled his staff before addressing the unruly mob, “Friends, students, colleagues, guests, invited plus ones, Mordor School For Boys, good evening, and we welcome you here, tonight at Eriador High, we welcome everyone to our annual prom. Tonight is brought to you by the PTA, the dedicated decorating team, the Literacy Club and of course, our  _ wonderful _ ,” Gandalf pursed his lips, ‘principal, Principal Sauron. We welcome you. Before the official electronic yearbook slideshow is displayed, a selection of our most decorated students,” He smiled and gestured behind him to the glumly shuffling assortment of squad members, “would like to say a few words to represent this oh so wonderful establishment of long standing virtue and honour.” He shook back his draping sleeve to examine the shining watch underneath and looked back out at the crowd with a smile.

Gandalf swanned back to Pippin expectantly, who shook his head with muffled glee, “We got nothing sir, remember? It’s all bullshit and like I don’t even do speeches, Mr Gandalf, sir.”

Gandalf lowered his eyes sombrely and looked toward Aragorn, “It’s up to you now.”

Aragorn nodded confidently and stepped forward, looking back at the Photograph Destruction Squad with a wink and whispered, “Follow my lead guys.” Aragorn turned his brilliant smile to the restless crowd and opened his mouth to speak loudly, despite the microphone, “My dad’s really awesome you know. Isildur, Son of Elendil. Mighta seen his plaque in the trophy case. Head Boy, 1986, last one. Before me that is, am I right?” He looked back toward the withering squad with an enthusiastic wave. “Hi, I’m Aragorn, but most of you know me as Strider, let’s keep it that way. I’m the quarterback and the Prom King and I’d like to say a few words.”

The crowd waited reluctantly as Aragorn gathered his thoughts.

“But first of all. Jerry! Proud of you buddy!”

A groan came from the back of the assembled crowd, “Fuck you, man!” Yelled an unhappy shop kid -- probably Jerry -- before loud footsteps and a slamming door were heard.

“Jerry, everyone!” Aragorn beamed.

Gimli put his head in his hands before looking along the line of squad members for aid. None came and so Aragorn continued,

“Jessica!” Aragorn pointed at the scantily dressed cheerleader in the crowd,    
“Keep doin’ what you’re doin’ babe, you do you!” He grinned as a high-pitched babbling squeal erupted,

“Oh my god Becca did you hear him!?” 

“Shut up, Jessica, he doesn’t mean you.” Becca glared down at her diamonte encrusted ruby nails. 

“Becca he’s pointing at me.”

“Jessica no he’s not, you’re distracting him.”

“Ladies there’s enough of me to go around, as I’m sure you all know.” He turned around once again to wink at Legolas and Arwen, the former of whom walked up beside Aragorn and crossed his arms and sighed,

“Alright, is there anything  _ else  _ you wanted to say,  _ Aragorn _ ?” Legolas said through gritted teeth.

Aragorn grinned and threw an arm around Legolas’ shoulder, pulling him close and swaying softly, “Here, at Eriador High, we’re proud of who we are.” He began strongly, hand placed over his head boy badge and his heart, “And to prove this, we, the most popular kids in school am I right?” He held up a hand for Legolas, who looked incredulously at it for a moment, then uncomfortably flashed a smile at the crowd and gently pressed his hand to Aragorn’s before wiping it on his robes in disgust, “We have decided to share all our secrets with you guys.” 

The Photograph Destruction squad shook their heads violently at the nodding head of Aragorn, submitting to the panic of the situation. Legolas grabbed Aragorn’s shoulder.

“Are you  _ actually _ insane, Aragorn, or are you just pretending to be?” He whispered manically, crystalline blue eyes wide and pleading. “Please tell me you’re not serious…”

“Dude, follow my lead, it’s called improvising, it’s good for you.” He grinned once more at the crowd before reaching behind him and grabbing the first available body. It happened to be Faramir, who let out an undignified grunt as he was dragged forward in front of the microphone. Aragorn stepped back, applauding.

Faramir began to sweat nervously, straightening his cloak, “So uhm, I’m not really a…Uhm, I don’t like football.” He scanned the crowd for his father, who stood out, robust in his pressed white uniform, from the brightly coloured assembly. “Yeah, in fact, I’m the President of the Photography Club,” there was a whoop from the corner of the room and the members of Photography Club waved at their leader, “and I’m fucking proud of it. I’m not ashamed of the work I put in and I’m not ashamed of what I did in the darkroom.”

Aragorn uttered a long, drawn out, “Ayy!” before slapping the costumed president heartily on the arse and ushering him to the side.

…

Galadriel watched the scene unfold with mild amusement, the smell of garlic and lime penetrating the computer lab as she opened a packet of croutons and sprinkled them over the remnants of her caesar salad.

Gollum the Janitor had scampered back to Frodo’s side, face close to the boy’s ear. He reached a gnarled hand toward the flushed cheek and stroked it with a grin.

…

Eowen, who had been ferried onstage by Merry, was Aragorn’s next victim. She was grabbed harshly by the wrist and pulled forward to the microphone, egged on by an encouraging thumbs up from Merry.

She smiled weakly back before turning around to face the Head Boy and Legolas, both of whom looked at her in dismay. Legolas rolled his eyes and Aragorn shrugged at him before offering her a forced smile.

Eowen licked her fuschia lips and stepped toward the microphone.

“I--” She gulped, the sound reverberating through the microphone embarrassingly and she shot a nervous glance at the quarterback, who scratched his crotch absent-mindedly, “I’m in love with Aragorn.” She finished quickly, her voice rising painfully before shooting a worried look at the crowd and half scurrying, half stumbling off the stage in an explosion of pink and glitter, leaving the gym to find refuge in the darkened corridor beyond.

“How enlightening.” Muttered Legolas, smirking slightly and nudging Aragorn playfully, who glanced at him with his trademark look of mild confusion,

“Huh? I wasn’t listening, Blondie.”

Legolas sighed.

…

Jagged fingernails ran too close too Frodo’s eyes for comfort and he winced away from the Janitor, who only came closer,

“Master, you must reconsider--” Gollum broke off to nod violently as Sam looked on in horror, “it’s drastic, very drastic,  _ drastic _ …” he lowered his voice, “but master does as master wishes. But so  _ drastic _ !” His voice rose an octave and his fingernails pressed harder into Frodo’s jaw.

…

A hush descended when the newly-reunited Merry and Pippin swaggered up to the microphone, arms draped around one another.

“You know Merry, I knew…” began a glassy eyed Pippin,

“Yes Pippin, we all knew.” Merry answered, gesturing to the befuddled crowd of teenagers and staff members,

“You’re fucking drunk!” The particularly shabby-looking Uruk bellowed from the masses, receiving a synchronised shudder from Faramir and Legolas,

From the front of the crowd, Nigel, dressed in a pressed khaki vest and shorts, a safari hat placed professionally atop his head and binoculars around his neck to complete the ensemble, raised his hand before speaking,

“Intoxication? Certainly not smashing at a school-sponsored event!” The small red-headed man looked around the crowd, lifting the binoculars to his eyes in search for Uruk,

“We’re not drunk, Mr Nigel,” beamed Merry,

“We’re only drunk on love!” Pippin swayed.

“I love you, Pippin,”   
“and that’s our secret.” Pippin declared to the crowd.

They began what was known to be an elaborate and drawn-out handshake and the crowd groaned.

“Truly beautiful. I’m delighted.” Legolas said flatly, adjusting his circlet.

…

Frodo smiled politely at the janitor, his eyes watering from the stress of the situation as he reached toward the  _ delete _ button. Gollum, ignoring Frodo’s discomfort, inched his fingers toward the crumpled photograph, where it lay on Frodo’s keyboard.

Sam narrowed his eyes at Gollum’s movement, slowing taking the muesli bar from his mouth and placing it on the table, squaring his shoulders.

…

Gimli, having been begrudgingly pulled toward the microphone by a braid, which was held in the hand of a beaming Aragorn, surveyed the crowd with trepidation. 

“This is bullshit.” Grumbled Gimli, shooting a murderous glare at Aragorn, who put a finger to his lips and shushed. He then looked at his boyfriend for help, but the blond only shrugged his shoulders and looked haughtily out into the crowd.

Gimli sighed, “Uh, I’m a kinda a lightweight, I guess.” He shuffled his feet. Jerry, who had reappeared at the back of the gym, raised a flask and swigged before bellowing, 

“That’s not a secret Gimli!  _ Everybody _ knows!” Again, he raised his flask good-naturedly and nodded before ambling out of the gym.

…

Sam, unable ignore Gollum’s movement stepped towards the bank of computers, “Frodo!” he cried, attempting to alert his friend.

Frodo turned, panic written across his face, and looked as if in slow motion towards the grinning janitor. He shoved Gollum, the small push all he could muster but the janitor’s fingers had already closed around the photograph.

“No!” Sam screamed, lunging across the space in a futile attempt to save the photograph.

…

Theoden had a very important job. To him, this prom was a disaster, an upholding of a matriarchal system that revolved around the popularity and worshipping of an all important Prom Queen, without any mention of the shining and virulent king. It was disgusting. So it was Theoden’s job, as a champion for men’s rights to let the world know what was going on in their very schools. He typed vigorously on his school issued Microsoft Surface Device from his twitter handle @broniesagainstmisandry. 

He was just in the process of livetweeting the short scruffy man’s moving speech about being a lightweight -- something men were not allowed to admit in the matriarchal world -- when he saw yet another woman walk by, her self importance evident in her pompous stride.

Theoden couldn’t take it anymore, “Hey you!”

She turned, her eyes glowed with womanly rage, demon teeth gnashing, “Theoden?” She snapped, the demon knew him! “What the fuck do you want? Not only, do I have to put up with you telling me I can’t teach PE, you now interrupt me on all important mission direct from Sauron? I have work to do Theoden, a concept I’m sure you’ve become rather unfamiliar with.”

Theoden’s eyes widened…it couldn’t be her…not Ms. King, or as the the students referred to her, the Witch King. He flung his Surface Device to the floor and faced her.

“Mrs. King,” his voice trembled, “This prom is no place for a woman.” He spread his arms and moved forward, herding the demonic PE teacher into the dark corridor behind them.

But the Witch King was fuming and after only ten steps she exploded, “The title,” she hissed, voice rising, “is Ms.!” 

Before Theoden could react he was being propelled into the blackness of the hallway by a harsh kick to his bottom.

…

Sam’s hand closed around Gollum’s wrist and the janitor squealed and convulsed, trying to rid himself of determined junior. But Sam would not be stopped and with a final tug he managed to free the photograph from between Gollum’s grimy fingers. Sam stopped for a moment to look at the piece of paper that had caused them all so much grief. The image could no longer be recognised and it was clear that the paper had been folded and creased in the palm of Frodo’s hand. 

Snapping out of his trance, Sam looked up in time to catch Frodo lunging toward the  _ delete _ button with fear in his eyes, as Gollum dove underneath the desk to the pile of tangled electrical cords with a blood curdling shriek. 

…

“Ouch dad, that was my foot!” Eowen’s pitchy yelp echoed through the hallway and the Witch King turned, eyes narrowed. 

Theoden’s sobs began, “Beaten. Beaten, and by a woman. There is no greater dishonor.” 

Heeled footsteps sounded in the darkness, causing Theoden to sob louder, grasping his daughter by the shoulders and shaking her, “Avenge me, you know what you must do.”

Eowen nodded, determined but confused as she limped down the narrow hallway painfully.

The Witch King smiled, drawing herself up to full height,  silhouetted by the ambiance of Medieval New Zealand,

“You think you can best me, Theoden?” She huffed and straightened her sports bra, “I will be beaten by no man.”

Finally, Eowen knew what she had to do, she knew her place in all this. 

“For Aragorn.” She whispered to herself as she stepped into the light and undid her messy bun. She looked the Witch King dead in the eye, “I am no man!” she howled before charging the PE teacher and pulling her into a passionate kiss.

…

Galadriel, having polished off her garlic croutons, surveyed the situation playing out in front of her. She stood up, tutting, diet lime soda still in her hand and glided leisurely to where Gollum was scrabbling with the cords. Shaking her head, she upended the can onto the janitor, just as Frodo’s finger hit the  _ delete  _ button.

Sparks flew around them, and Sam watched, frozen in horror as Gollum burst into flame. All he could do was let the photograph fall from his fingers into the fire.

…

Legolas flipped his hair over his shoulder and adjusted his circlet. “I have several things to say.” He preened, stepping forward on the stage. He snapped his fingers and a grumbling art kid moved forward and adjusted the microphone stand to fit Legolas’ height. “First of all,” he began, looking sourly at the art kid, who slunk away, “I would like to thank my father.” He scanned the crowd knowingly, “You’re all aware of who he is, I’m sure. Next, I would like to tell a story. When I was child, in my youth at the manor, my father would say --”

“Speaking of dad’s,” Aragorn interrupted, grinning and pushing Legolas away, “I’m sure mine would be proud of me today. I have like, the biggest secret, you’re all gunna be so excited.” Legolas froze next to him, looking around in panic for a way to stop his friend from speaking the unthinkable. Instead, Arwen stepped forward, simpering smile in place. 

“Yes, speaking of dads,” she giggled, fluttering her eyelashes at the crowd, “I just wanted to to announce, that Aragorn and I are pregnant, and we’re going to have the most popular baby in school.”

The crowd was silent for a second, Arwen’s words slowly sinking in. But it wasn’t until Aragorn showed them his signature grin and thumbs up that they burst into jubilant applause. 

Amongst the commotion and celebration, nobody noticed a dishevelled duo making their way into the back of gym. Frodo and Sam, exhausted from their ordeal attempted to make their way through the crowd and onto the stage. It was Aragorn who spied the weary juniors, gleefully striding to the front of the stage and waving them over,

“My nerds! My little nerds!” he reached for their hands and effortlessly heaved them both onto the raised stage, “You did it! You did it for the squad and saved us all!”

Sam, unable to fight Aragorn’s contagious excitement, grabbed Frodo’s shoulder and smiled. But Frodo was unable to be cheered. “It doesn’t matter. Everything will be as it was before. You as the jocks.” He gestured towards a confused Aragorn and an irritated Legolas, “Us as the nerds.” He shook Sam’s hand off his shoulder. “And we’ll spend the rest of our lives being wedgied by people like you.” He turned to leave the stage.

Realisation dawned on Aragorn’s handsome features and he grabbed Frodo’s arm, 

“My friends,” he announced solemnly, addressing the crowd as much as the squad members, “you will be wedgied by no one.”

There was thunderous applause, cheering from all corners of the gym.

A shaft of bright, unnatural light beamed from the ceiling, projecting a photograph onto the back wall. The slideshow began.


End file.
